


A pair of golden eyes

by FavoritadelRe



Category: Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: A silly fantasy, AU, M/M, Macdeau, The author is not allowed to have a sidekick like the one here, The author likes birds too, but with a twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:08:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FavoritadelRe/pseuds/FavoritadelRe
Summary: Sometimes a wish can be fulfilled.And sometimes that's bad news.
Relationships: Emmanuel Macron/Justin Trudeau
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	1. What Charlie really wrote

**Author's Note:**

> Second attempt at Macdeau, this time with an "imaginative" twist.  
> This is a little, multiple chapter experiment. Will be shorter that my main fic anyway, be sure of that.  
> Just enjoy. Justin - or Emmanuel - aren't necessarily going to have fun.  
> The author asks for your indulgence as far as mispellings and gramatical errors are concerned.  
> To think this came from an allegorical portrait!  
> Enjoy.

**1**

_**What Charlie really wrote** _

“And you, do you sometimes wish to have another kind of life, different from this one?” if Justin had knew, he wouldn't have said so.

But things are never like one expects.

In the gardens of the hotel that hosted their delegations in Osaka, the Prime Minister made the question. It was a quiet night of June and the dinner preceded of a little show in which new musical compositions had mixed with traditional Japanese drama and Italian opera - all that with images from the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami - had just ended. He and Emmanuel decided to go for a little walk once they were back from it when their retinues happened to arrive at the same moment. It had been Justin's idea, as Sophie arched her eyebrows with amusement and Brigitte smiled in an indecipherable way. Why not, Emmanuel had answered, bowing his head in a gesture that in any other individual would indicate shyness. In him, it was difficult to read. The French president took his arm as if he never wanted to leave it go – with an enthusiasm so evident that almost destabilized the taller man – and they headed to the cross path that could be seen from the door, several hundred metres away. It wasn't a great distance, there was no place to hide and he couldn't say it was intimate enough for his tastes, or that it would help to keep their conversation safe from indiscreet ears. But it felt good to walk with him under the moonlight, his arm linked with Emmanuel's, their steps resounding on the gravel. This would make his shoes dusty no doubt, but he didn't really care. And Emmanuel, did he?

“You know what would be a great idea?” Justin said “I would like you came sometimes to run with me early in the morning. I know you do run, daily. Why can't you share that moment with me?” there were plenty of images of Emmanuel running with his bodyguards – and even his dog.

“At that moment I will be preparing our bilateral, Justin”, the French President replied, a bit smug; it was attractive. “I don't say I wouldn't like to run with you and wave to the reporters that are out there waiting for your surprise apparitions...”

The Prime Minister laughed, in spite of these words meaning a very clear NO. As much as he regretted it, the most probable was that the Frenchman would never run at his side. And yes, there was a camera of a Canadian broadcast station strategically placed in the route he'll follow next morning when running before the summit. Emmanuel's bilateral was the first of the day and he was looking forward to it. He took a breath and enjoyed the aroma of the recently cut grass and of the sea. They had arrived to the cross path in the meantime and there they stopped. Could that qualify for a walk? Justin looked back at the hotel, and saw their bodyguards at a respectful distance, but making their presence perfectly known. Could that qualify for having a private conversation?

“Don't act like some of your breaches of protocol aren't planified either”, Justin said.

“I won't” was the prompt reply, followed by one of his trademark grins “But that's the point, we can breach the protocol now and then, but we must live with it. At least while we are in office”

It was something obvious, even for someone like him that wanted to be looked as transgressive. Not in the trumpist style. On the style or someone that would keep fellow leaders waiting because he had decided to visit a revered kimono designer before, and then talk with him during hours. And then be introduced to his family, dog included. But at the end of the day, he had to submit to the rules, like the rest of them.  
“No running together then. Alright” and sighing, he added “Such a shame. It would be a nice contrast to sitting next to Bolsonaro during the dinner”.

“I get to sit next to him during the working session” Emmanuel snapped. Emphasis on I “And they only serve water during it” he took a breath “But you weren't supposed to sit next to him, am I mistaken?”

Justin emitted a little laugh.

“Well, yes, but Sophie insisted in swapping places with me, so she could avoid the Brazilian president” he ran his fingers through his hair, as if this last-moment exchange of places needed justification “I had to. She's a little upset by the differences between our planning and that of the first ladies”.

And of Philip May.

 _I find frustrating to have come all this way only to wave while smiling and visit gardens_ , those had been her very same words.

“Ah! I think mine can relate. Brigitte's opinion is that Melania has taken probably the smartest road, not showing up at all. _And to think people say she's dumb. You are out there talking about commerce and climate change and we, in exchange... are like flower pots_ ” for a moment Justin had thought the Frenchman would imitate his own wife's voice. But that didn't happen of course “That last part about not being a flower pot is a pet peeve for her”. He looked at the ground, lips pressed. It seemed that it was one for him, too.

“Actually we didn't advance that much in the first theme since we have a few leaders in the group that aren't very... climate friendly”, Justin answered. “Bolsonaro. As for the second..."

  
Mercosur never has come closer to become a reality, after so many years. Only that some states in the European Union are trying to held it back”

“Thank you for keeping me informed, Mr. Prime Minister. You can say _France_ , Justin, I'm not going to act offended now”, the other man replied in a very patient tone, a tone apt for little children “But what do you want? The last I need is farmers on the streets too. Anyway it seems unlikely we can hold it back. So much time spent on negotiations. Mauricio will probably be back in his country with the thing wrapped up”.

He looked away, as if he was searching for an excuse to have a different outcome.

“Things are complicated, and you know it perfectly”.

Justin stared at his profile under the moonlight.

“Yes, it's a fucking nightmare, sometimes”, the Canadian said. Emmanuel looked at him sideways, amused. And then the phrase in question came “And you, do you sometimes wish to have another kind of life, different from this one?”

Before the President of the French Republic could answer his phone started to sound.

“...And there goes our little pause”, he snorted. Looking at the screen of his phone, he added “I'm sorry Justin but I have to answer. See you tomorrow”.

It was an abrupt way to end their conversation, the Prime Minister thought, hands inside his pocket, while his eyes remained glued to his French counterpart back, as walked away from him and later jumped the stairs giving access to their hotel, followed by his bodyguards who could barely keep his pace.

He looked at the sky full of stars. He did, sometimes, yearn for something different, he didn't know exactly what.

Justin went back to his own room, to find Sophie sitting in an armchair in front of their bed, taking off her sandals and undoing her bun.  
“Ah”, she sighed with relief “They were really killing me” she said, pointing at them, pretty but uncomfortable. Barefoot, she approached her husband “Could you help me unzipping this?”. She was wearing a white jumpsuit with a pink sash. Justin applied gladly, caressing his wife's back in the process “Oh, not today, I am tired, and besides she gets in my nerves”.

“She?”

With a gesture of her chin Sophie points to the portrait hanging in the room. For some reason there's a copy of a little known portrait of Marie Antoinette as Hebe, goddess of Youth. Her hair up, dressing a pale yellow tunic and with an eagle at her side, the future beheaded queen – dauphine when the original was painted – was looking at them, apparently judgemental. Justin frowned. Would be indelicate to ask for the painting to be retired? In any case, doing so in the middle of the night could be considered as such.

“I can see if we can take her out of our room tomorrow in the morning”, he suggested.

“Hum, it doesn't matter, actually”, Sophie said, her forehead now against his breast “You came back early, it wasn't definitely a long walk”.

“He had a phone call. And anyway, if it wasn't him the one receiving it, it would have been me”.

Undoing his tie, Justin yawned. Suddenly the bed seemed very tempting, more tempting that anything. As in tempting for sleeping and nothing more. Sophie stepped out of her elegant jumpsuit and threw it at the portrait, as if she pretended to hide it. She failed, shrugged and picked her nightdress from a drawer. The Prime Minister left his phone on the nightstand after setting an alarm.

“You look tired, too. Are you sure you want to go running tomorrow in the morning”

“Totally sure”, Justin replied. “I have a camera waiting out there, I think. Did you send the photos to the kids? ”.

“Yes, but they were a little disappointed because you weren't here when I called them. Remember to do it tomorrow between two bilaterals, darling”

Definitely, he said to himself as he lied in the bed, he was tired. And the sensation of the soft sheets was delicious, no matter how judgmental Madame la Dauphine looked as he turned off the light and he closed his eyes, falling immediately asleep.

* * *

_Clack!_

An unfamiliar sound awakened him in the middle of the night. Justin opened his eyes and found another being looking at him, a pair of golden eyes blinking in the darkness, now relieved by a soft clarity.

What the...

Justin had sometimes weird dreams, like everyone else does, but he had never seen a golden eagle next to his bed, its head on the sheets and looking at him expectant. Then the bird moved it in order to look at him intently. It was weird, but it looked like a dog expecting a caress. He didn't give one to it, though. At one or other moment you would expect the giant bird waving a long tail. He looked back at Sophie, who was profoundly asleep, a smile in her lips.

“Oh, don't disturb him, you know he's on for a wild ride, the poor lad”, a voice said “Come here”.

The eagle opened its beak and curled its tongue for a moment. It looked really comical.Then stepped back to the corner of the room; only then realized that there was someone else in his dream. A woman seated on the armchair, the real source of luminescence in the room. He suppresed a laugh when he saw the creature – there was something ethereal about her, which was perfectly natural giving she wasn't real -, who looked exactly like the woman in the painting, that is; Marie Antoinette. Only that she was trying in her feet Sophie's sandals. As for the frame, it was now void, given that the subjects had escaped from it. He sat on the bed, amused.

“What a nice pair of shoes. Uncomfortable, I must say”, the creature argued, propping up her own foot to look at it. Her head tilted, she contemplated it until she made a movement and the sandal went flying, landing next to the bed. “Good night, Justin honey. The first thing I must say is thank you. It's not bad, this aspect. I've been looking way worse” she tapped the eagle's head, now in her knees “And I get a sidekick, too!” The animal was now behaving like a cat, purring and all “But to be fair, she has looked worse, too. Divided in two parts, to be exact” the creature points back with her thumb to the frame and laughs.

“Okay then, that's weird, definitely tomorrow the portrait is out of here”, Justin mumbled as he lied back in the bed, closing his eyes, but the creature of his dream was having none of this. He felt she was pinching his nose. It really hurt. She was now at his side sitting on the bed, he realized opening his eyes again. The eagle took possession of the armchair and started preening. Well, that was more birdlike. For a moment he considered this was an elaborated kind of joke put in scene by Sophie, as the touch of the spirit, or whatever she was, had nothing of ethereal. The eagle, though, had no possible explanation. He looked again at his wife, sound asleep.

“That's not very polite, Justin” her Habsburg lip made a pout “Don't do that when I am talking to you, especially when I came to concede you a wish. Congratulations, honey, I am here to make your dream true”

The creature smiled, apparently very proud of herself. Losing all the possible hope of sleeping again, Justin groaned:

“A wish? From... Marie Antoinette?” it was an absurd thing to say but what he could do if the dream was silliness itself.

“Please call me Toni, that will be your nickname for me. Don't think she minds about wishes, she's dead” she said dismissively getting up to her feet and pacing the room “You know, there are spirits of my kind that go for the pretentious titles, but I am very down to earth, I assure you”

“So what do you do exactly”, Justin said half mockingly, resigned and crossing his arms. “Should I wait for the other two spirits too?”

Toni looked back at him, with a frown. Yellow sparks surrounded her head. Apparently she was angry? What was the protocol with spirits of her kind, as she had put in?

“Why does everyone forget about Marley? Do you think he's happy whenever he sees how attention is always focused on the other three? Just because all these people never cared about what Charlie really wrote” the yellow sparks vanished as she mellowed “But honey, no. Christmas is not my business. All that green and red, ew. I am here to grant you a wish”.

“Which exactly?” Justin asked.

“Another life. Well, that's not exactly what you want, eh?” she smirked at him. Suddenly she vanished, reappearing on the bed, laying between him and his wife. Justin almost jumped from there. How was possible Sophie was so profoundly asleep “What a pity you didn't look at his photo before sleeping. Maybe I would be more appealing to you, but that would make things... awkward” she curled on the bed, yawning. “I have taken the form of crushes before and it's... well. It goes against our statutes but sometimes happens”

This was a dream so this creature, whatever she is, could apparently read his mind.

“Don't deny it, Justin darling” she said with a wry smile “You want a different life because you want him to have a different life, far from all this”.

Him. Emmanuel.

“You” Toni went on “Dream about him, I have seen it. You dream about running with him every single morning. You dream about how his kisses would feel. You dream about caressing his skin, with nothing that separate it from yours. You dream about his smell. You dream about yourself leaning on your stomach in one of these bureaus he has at l'Élysée with your pants down, while he...”

“Enough enough” he said, bothered by his blood accumulating in a certain place.

“Eh, these are your dreams, there's nothing you and I have not seen already. Believe me. I have nothing against it”, Toni said, disappearing from the bed; for a moment only her voice was heard until she materialized again on the armchair “As far as it's consensual and both of you enjoy” she petted the eagle's head again. “Oh, I wonder if the syndicate will allow me to keep this one; she's a sweetie, don't you think?" she smirked back at him "One of the lads I had to visit lately imagined me as some character of that serie… Daenerys. Honey, that was awful, and to think I didn’t have any prejudice against dragons before. Aww… Who's a good girl?”

Justin didn't dare to disagree, or to ask about that syndicate or what happened with, presumably, Drogon.

“So, Justin, do you want your wish granted, or not? Think about it, no one is forcing you to...”

“Very well then, grant me that wish so I can sleep, I must met him tomorrow in the morning”

“Are you sure?” her blue eyes had a weird expression now. Well, it if was possible for the situation to be even weirder.

“Sure, yes” Justin said with a sigh. He just wanted his sleep back.

Toni looked at the eagle and clapped her hands. Yellow sparks flought around her head. It seemed that she didn't produce then only when she was angry.

“Wished granted then” she said. “Good night, Mr. Prime Minister”.

And then he fell asleep again.

***

A knock at the door startled him.

“Excuse me, Mr. Prime Minister, but it's already half past nine” his assistant was outside the room.

Half past nine? He opened his eyes. Had the alarm failed? In any case, he wouldn't have the time of going running. At his side, Sophie yawned and stretched, turning to look at him

“Who are you and what you did with my early rising husband?”, she joked, kissing him softly on his lips. Then she went to open the door, with a smile “Ah, it has been a long time since I slept so well, by the way!” she said.

Justin sat on the bed, looking at the painting. Of course it was unchanged. But there was no time to take care of it now.

“I wish I could say the same” he said, jumping out of the bed “I had a extremely weird dream”.  
The assistant entered the room, talking about the schedule of the day, as Justin went to the bathroom for a quick shower. Running could wait. He was eager to see Emmanuel again.

Maybe they could resume their conversation of last night at the garden.

He wouldn't tell him anything about Toni, though.

Ready and dressed in a record time, adjusting his tie on his way to the convention center where the working sessions were held, he distractedly listened to his assistant.

“... and the French delegation is being... “ she made a pause “problematic again”

“Mercosur and the farmers?” he said listening at the sirens preceding the car.

“... You guessed it. They have enough problems, to a certain extent it's understandable. And the CETA”

Now it was the commercial treaty with Canada, too? Justin sighed. He maybe was getting a headache.

“I see there are things to discuss with the French President”

“Then good luck” his assistant said, annoyed and rolling her eyes. He had never seen her doing that gesture before.

When he entered the room for the bilateral, Emmanuel wasn't there yet. Always late, he thought fondly. The flags had been carefully placed in the corner, and two black armchairs were prepared. His photographer, Adam, was already there.

“Good morning, Adam” Justin said with a smile. “Are you ready to make your magic?”

Emmanuel had a very good photographer, but his wasn't bad, either. Indeed, he was extremely good. Sometimes he didn't know how to choose.

“Very funny, Mr. Trudeau”, Adam commented. He wasn't in the mood for joking apparently.

The rumors on his back announced the arrival of the French President and the rest of his delegation. The door opened. He turned to face Emmanuel with a smile, as he usually did.

But his smile froze when his eyes met those of Marine Le Pen, President of the French Republic.

A new life, Toni had said.


	2. Post mortem analysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is supremely unhappy at the outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is chapter two. Had some "technical" difficulties in the last days that are resolved now. Please remember that English is not my first language, something that I use to repeat a lot. No further ado, enjoy.

**2**  
_**Post mortem analysis** _

He was the first to leave the room, retaining himself from closing the door on her face, only to see if she vanished with the rest of this alternate world, or bad dream, or whatever it actually was. But he didn't. He had expected she would vanish the moment he would touch her hand. Her hand had been extended, waiting for the handshake, and Justin had remained immobile, bewildered, and incapable of reacting. The feel of her palm was very real. Nothing but the flashes of the cameras surrounding them could be heard. He tried to smile and succeeded, even if he knew perfectly it would look horrible on the photos, Adam or not Adam. He noticed the absence of Soazig, Emmanuel's photographer. But it was very natural she wasn't there.

  
No, Madame Le Pen had not vanished. Not then, not when they took a seat and she, taking a little red folder from the hands of her own assistant before the two leaders were left alone, took a pair of glasses from the pocket of her jacket and examined the multi colored sheets and cards inside. Emmanuel would have attacked whatever was the matter without hesitation and from memoir, because that's how he was made, a true sponge that absorbed everything. Knowledge especially. Madame Le Pen had prepared a series of cheat sheets: one about Mercosur, other about CETA, a third one about NATO. She had looked at them startled, as if she didn't know exactly which to pick first.  
No, she hadn't vanished either when she had apologized for being late because in spite of the different time zones she had been talking to Prime Minister Dupont-Aignan about the violent protests against the Loi Maréchal, whatever that was supposed to be; in any case seemed something that annoyed her to a certain extent. He had observed her carefully, as she said some banalities to start the conversation, eyes still down and reading her coloured cards. There were a lot of wrinkles around her mouth and her eyes, more than corresponded to her age or to her counterpart from the world he had knew. There was an aura of supreme unhappiness around her.  
Marine Le Pen hadn’t vanished, either, when she finally tapped with her finger in one of the coloured cards, one in which the word CETA could be read, and had talked about the commercial treaty between Canada and the European Union.

  
“I'll be very clear, Mr. Trudeau” no Justin and he was somewhat relieved “my majority won't ratify the commercial treaty with Canada, it's a settled matter. During our last conversation...”

  
Not even then, when she revealed that she had a majority at the Assemblée Nationale – the Prime Minister had expected that, at least, her party had been badly beaten on the parliamentary elections that followed the presidential ones - did Madame Le Pen vanish, and Justin resigned himself to that fact. Had Madame Le Pen appeared with horns or something of the style, he could have been amused at all this weird adventure. But she was there looking like a perfectly normal and reasonable human being, not even making weird gestures like the ones she did during the debate in 2017. Gestures that Emmanuel could imitate in a laughably accurate way; he was one of these who had witnessed said imitations, along with Bettel, in one of these post NATO informal reunions they used to have. No, she looked perfectly normal. Not a freak, not a monster, only a woman whose party and ideas he loathed. One with whom he never would share a drink, one who, definitely, was not welcome in his dreams.

  
“But I guess your opposition would have something to say about that”, Justin had argued, a slight smirk in his lips, uncertainty nested in his soul. The woman had a majority, very well, but, was that majority absolute? To what extent? Where was Emmanuel, leading the opposition? Had he retired from political life, after the blow that would mean for any candidate to be rejected even with a Le Pen as the adversary?

  
She had arched her eyebrows, looking at him with her tired eyes. Then she gave him a crash curse on the state of French parliament.

  
“They can argue as much as they want. Monsieur Mélenchon will make one of his perfectly written speeches but probably will abstain, because, after all, he didn’t want the treaty either. Anyway they are not relevant, he and his other four MPs. Les Républicains are divided and Marion guarantees me I have the backing of their right wing”  
“So she won them over in exchange of green light for her law?” Justin guessed.

  
“There is a bunch of pro-life among them that are very satisfied with the draft of her abortion law. They even follow her to the counter-protests” she frowned. “One of them got in trouble when she attacked one of the pro-choice protesters”.

  
So it was clear that what annoyed her was the presence of her younger, even more conservative from a social point of view, not entirely disgusting to look at niece Justin had his answer about the Loi Maréchal and why it was causing so much trouble. In the past this had been a cause of conflict between the two women, and obviously it was still. Maybe the younger woman had been admitted to be in the spotlight by the president so she would crash against the wall of protests as many others had done before her. Or maybe she would gain from that and would start to shake her aunt's seat. It was very possible in that dynasty “As for Monsieur Macron...” Le Pen smiled as if the mere mention of her former, defeated rival was a balm for her.

  
“What about him?” Justin had asked, his heart skipping a beat. So Emmanuel was there, a member of the Assemblée, he had not surrendered after his defeat.

  
“He will mention Europe twenty times in a second. Europe Europe Europe Europe...” she had said with a smirk “ He's good at debate as it was clear. But that was an useless trait after all. The poor man hasn't recovered yet from two years ago, as the title of his last book indicates. Have you read it? _Post mortem analysis_ ” she made a dismissive gesture with her hand “A lot of whining about what went wrong for him in 2017. Maybe you could get him to sign a copy, since he's in the city at an alternate summit, or something of that kind I have heard. He never bothered with picking a French title. But he still can't believe I was elected, and much less when Italy, Spain and Greece elected my allies afterwards” Justin swallowed “Now he has to realize that his Europe has changed so much that we don't need to abandon it. His group will vote for the ratification, but it will be useless. As for the Socialists... well, I remember them being outraged at the Loi Philipott, even if they were the first ones to come out seriously with the idea of stripping French citizenship...”

  
Justin has not cared about whatever the socialists were going to do, or if they even existed, since in the middle of Le Pen's tirad he had learnt Emmanuel was in Osaka, that he hasn't retired from politics, as he had feared - How could one imagine he would left things go, that he could surrender so easily? Even in this alternate universe, that seemed unlikely – Nonetheless, that last bit about the stripping of French citizenship had caught his attention. After the wave of attacks in 2015 there had been debate about the possibility of revoke those convicted of terrorism of their French citizenship; the proposal made by President Hollande had found much opposition in his own party – in members of his government, to begin with, Emmanuel being among these who had found the idea as something he wasn't comfortable with – as well as the approbation of the right. It had been abandoned. But in this universe President Le Pen had, apparently, succeeded in imposing it.

  
“I remember that” Justin said somberly.

  
“Of course you do, you said something of the kind I deplore this decision even if I understand it when asked about it in Hamburg”.

  
He had said something like that? It seemed quite the compromise; nothing he could feel proud of. But then that's how diplomacy was often. Saying things that you could never be proud of.

  
“But no one, apart from my dear opposition has cried everytime one of these murderers have been stripped from their French citizenship” she said “Whether they are terrorists or not. Did you see the polls back then? It's probably one of the few popular things we did”.

  
And she smiled again. Tired, but proud of herself in that particular matter. That smile got on Justin's nerves. It wouldn't be the last time that would happen during their bilateral.

  
“You look pale, Mr. Trudeau”, his assistant told him once he crossed that door, startling the Prime Minister. It had been short, but Justin only realized that once it had ended “As usual with her” then she joked awkwardly “it's the same expression we all had when she won”.

  
He resisted the impulse of pinching his own lips nervously, hard enough to make himself bleed. What for? From the next corner of the hallway he heard the sound of steps approaching, and Trump's familiar figure appeared, ahead his own assistants, his hands extended towards him. Even in this alternate reality or whatever it was, he didn't get to avoid him.

  
“Justin!” he said before trying to submit him to one of his trademark crushing handshakes. But the Prime Minister knew the trick, and put his hand on Trump's opposite shoulder, thus partly blocking him. There were photos shot, naturally, as Donald smiled proud of himself. “I hope you didn't take badly that tweet about the steel tariffs, eh?”

  
“Oh, I didn't”, Justin said, distractedly. It didn't matter the alternate universe he was living, there was always an inconvenient tweet from the President of the United States.

  
Then Donald whispered at his ear:

  
“I think we can make the best possible deal about these tariffs, but I am going to tax the French products anyway”

  
He tapped his shoulder as if he wanted to make for the failed attempt of crushing his hand and left him behind, in his way to the room where Marine Le Pen had remained, now accompanied by one of the members of her delegation. Justin vaguely remembered him for somewhere. A guy named Collard, or something like that.

  
“Who could have told, eh?” the voice of his assistant startled him again.

  
“These two winning elections?” he commented.

  
“That, and how they hate the guts of each other. Especially he hates her and she tries to keep him interested. It's quite pathetic, to be honest”

  
“Ah... yes, of course”, Justin answered. “And of course the problem is...”

  
“She doesn't have a penis, that's the problem”, his assistant said, strangely annoyed as she looked the American president's back “It doesn't matter if she's a populist. That's not going to counter Donald's misogyny”.

  
They walk down the hallway, in their way to the working session.

  
“By the way, have you heard about that alternate summit?”

  
“The one by the anti-system who smash things or the one with the cool kids, Mr. Trudeau?”

  
She looks dismissive of the two anyway. Nevertheless, he guessed that if Emmanuel was part of one of these, it had to be the latter more than the former.

  
“The one with Mr. Macron”.

  
“Ah!”, she said “Do you want to talk with him? That can be arranged, even if he will be eager to know your opinion on his book. I think he sent us a copy two months ago, but you didn't read my notes about it. Quite the somber vision... Unfortunately he's going back to France tomorrow in the early morning and his conference – she looked at the screen her smartphone - took place yesterday. The only event he has today is a little talk about Post mortem analysis at a bookshop specialized in French authors”

  
“Arrange that”

  
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Trudeau?”

  
“I want to assist to that little talk” he said “Clear some space at my agenda, I am sure you'll find it”.

  
She frowned.

  
“That won't go well with the French delegation”.

  
“Well, that will show them to ratify commercial treaties they were supposed to agree with”, he said.

* * *

“... So don't be a generation of sleepwalkers, don't let the flame to die. Learn from this experience and keep it alive”.

  
These are his last words this evening, and they are received with warm applause, especially from Justin, who has arrived five minutes ago and received a smile and an ironic commentary from Emmanuel. There is, the old magic. The magic of his word, the magic of his charm. But there is something more, something that he hasn't expected. Not the beard that he now sports, nor the studied, fake disarray of his white shirt – always impeccable, but he's not wearing a tie now and this seems like an habit in him – nor the jeans instead of his navy trousers. The thing that strikes him is an aura of melancholy and unhappiness. In spite of his smile.

  
He is casually sitting on a desk, in front of a limited number of people, mostly French expats sitting on chairs which seem to drink his words as eagerly as members of the European Parliament or of the UNGA would do. When he arrives to the book shop, Justin finds that the talk, which takes place in a room next to the store, is about to end. One needs to past a curtain, which seems old style, like the door that would divide normal from adult tapes in a video store. This idea has made him smile previously, when he has arrived to the book shop, having announced his visit with a very short delay. He has heard his voice before crossing that door, even if the first thing he saw when he finally was at the other side of that curtain was a pile of that book he has written in this universe. Post mortem analysis. A cover with a photo of what looks like his concession speech, face half in shadows, with one of his supporters still waving the French and European flags. A striking game of lights and shadows that possibly is Soazig's work. It is superb and unbearably sad.

  
“We have an illustrious guest for the last part of our talk”, Emmanuel says then. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Trudeau”.

  
Faces turns with curiosity and look at Justin, giving him a few claps. The Prime Minister smiles and makes a gesture between a bow and a wave, somewhat embarrassed, trying to retreat to the corner, a silent indication that he's not the protagonist there. He looks away. In the first row, a blonde girl with long hair looks at him with what can be described as a mocking smile. Justin swallows and feels a little dizzy, because she could be Toni's lost twin. But then she turns her head to look at Emmanuel as he wraps up his talk. There is applause, and a little group of people that gathers around the former candidate to have their copies signed. The blonde girl is one of the firsts to do so; Justin realizes now that she doesn't look like Toni at all.

  
Taking one of the copies from the pile, Justin patiently waits until Emmanuel has dedicated a word to every single one of the individuals which have stayed to have their books signed. Then, heart beating and sweating like one would approach his crush – but what else he is, after all? - he extended his hand, fearing that Emmanuel would vanish the moment he touched him.

  
But he doesn't; the palm of the man whose hand he is shaking feels very warm and real, familiar and strange at once, and the pair of blue eyes are focused on him like he was the only human being left in this world. Yes, it is there, the old magic. This Emmanuel is as seductive as the one he used to know, but there is something new in his eyes that the other Emmanuel would never have. Even during the worst crisis he had found during his turbulent president, the man he had knew never looked like someone or something had caused him a wound that wouldn't heal.

  
This one does even if he seems eager to conceal it. Gone was that light that showed the man had an unbreakable confidence in his own value. Emmanuel, the one he knew and had come to love, had of course his own scars, mainly due to all the difficulties he had found in his way once he had won the elections. This one seems still badly hit, deep in his heart, even if he is trying to put a brave face and get up again.

  
“I am glad to meet you. Do you want another signed copy, Mr. Trudeau?” he says, playing with his blue pen. His eyes are still fixated on Justin's.

  
“Yes, I mean... the other one is at my desk”, he replies, not knowing what to really say. In this, and other realities, he would have little time to indulge in reading political books. But he can't be blamed for not reading this one, evidently. The Frenchman smiles, as if he understands.

  
“I have no problems with doing that, but I would not repeat what I wrote in my dedication, I don't want to bother you” he takes the book from Justin's hands and writes a very simple Bien à vous before signing “You'll have to compare them when you go back to Canada” then he added, as he sees the movement in Justin's hand, searching for his wallet “It's a gift, like the other one, you don't have to pay for it”

  
“Then, would you accept an invitation to have a coffee?” Justin said. The other man arched his eyebrows, legitimately surprised. “I have an... unexpected blank space in my schedule”.

  
“Of course”, he replied after a very brief silence, and then added a phrase that was rarely found in the other Emmanuel's lips, even when he usually made of his own time whatever he wanted, like if always being late never mattered “I have nothing else to do”

  
He says this as a joke, but nonetheless Justin feels a pang in his heart and can't bring himself to laugh at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is. There's not much to add this time in the final notes.  
> Hope you enjoyed, and you are free to criticise, comment, etc, etc. Until the next one! :)


	3. Already hated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Justin is still too insistent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, first things first I apologize again, since I had said that the chapter would be up during the weekend. But, I had new and shiny technical problems, which means the USB key in which I used to store this fic broke when I had not a complete copy of the chapter done yet. Are these problems definitely over now? I hope so. Good news is that I have another one half written already.  
> As usual, this is written in my second language and I apologize on advance for the usual mistakes.   
> Enjoy.

**3**

_**Already hated** _

“Don’t you sometimes regret they are always there, always watching over you?” Justin had been fidgeting with the book, and so raised his eyes a tad startled. The Frenchman was pointing at his back, where two of his bodyguards were sitting, the minimum required. They had checked the cafe so they were sure it was safe. They had insisted in the Prime Minister taking the seat that was next to the wall, so no one could surprise him from behind. They sat in the table next to theirs, so they could intervene quickly, just in case… Evidently to save him; the loss of a Prime Minister was real trouble, whereas the loss of a former presidential candidate that was only a member of the French Parliament was, no doubt, regrettable – especially for his wife and family-, but easier to solve.

  
How weird that conversation was, a mix of unfamiliar and familiar things. For the first time since he had met Emmanuel – even if this one was apparently a bit different from the one he knew – he felt he had a certain advantage. A greater knowledge of his feelings and tastes; at least they didn’t seem so different from the ones he had in the world he had knew. Example: his never-ending want for his own freedom, sometimes that in certain occasions led him to break the rules of protocol and even those of his own safety. He smiled at him before answering:

  
“They have been always there, since I was a child; these are the perks of growing at the Prime Minister’s son, I guess. Or should I say that was one of the inconveniences?” he made a pause “Being accompanied by bodyguards was part of my childhood” if there was a hint of compassion in the Frenchman’s eyes because he had enjoyed a childhood and teenagehood without such individuals in view, he had the delicacy of not commenting over it.

  
Emmanuel leaned back in his seat; naturally his side was most exposed.

  
“Anyway, I guess you aren’t entirely unprotected, are you?” that was an unexpected source of concern for him. After all, Emmanuel had started to receive death threats when he was in Hollande’s government, and this part of his past remained, as far as he knew, unaltered in this universe “Do you sometimes escape from them?”

  
A mischievous light that he had thought lost illuminated the other man’s eyes for a moment. There was, that almost childish side of him that few people had seen.

  
“Especially here, and in other travels out of France. But you are right, Justin” he had jumped in first name treatment barely half an hour after they had been out of that book shop “they may be not as spectacular as your own security detail, but they aren’t entirely bad at their job. They better do; Brigitte would become mad if it wasn’t the case, considering...” and then the light was gone “Considering the last attacks in France, we all elected officials have to look for our safety. The poor François… ”

  
He looked down, at his now empty cup of coffee. _Poor François_ , he had said. He wondered if he meant Hollande. Then he went on.

  
“Poor François is still in coma after one of these _patriotic brigades_ surrounded and beat him when he had just given a talk about his last book. At least he was fortunate enough for the police to arrive on time. Others did not have the same luck. Politicians, journalists, immigrants… they are all the same for them. If you dare to speak against them, of course” he flinched his fingers.

“ _Patriotic brigades_?” Justin asked, a little lost.

  
“Yes, these guys that are the fan club of the radical wing of the Rassemblement National. I don’t think she controls them anymore. I don’t think she ever did. They started being verbally violent just after she was elected, and since they felt they were endorsed in some way -first reaction of the government was to try to ignore them - the next step was smashing our permanences whenever they thought we were being insulting. Mine was set on fire once and ransacked two; the second of these times, I was there” he said, a bit casually “They didn’t realize it until all was over, though. Now they are going for direct attack, as I told you, against those who won’t say what they like. That’s why we are all under protection. Next presidential campaign is going to be… Extremely brutal, if things go on like this”

Justin swallowed before asking:

  
“Aren’t they arrested?” he didn’t dare to ask if he was going to run for president in 2022.

  
“Oh, yes, they are. Often. And sent to jail. But there are more of them than anyone expected and they are always there” he looked away “But I am boring you with our misfortunes, and, besides, I don’t want to cause a diplomatic row between your country and mine”.

  
“The French government and mine, in any case”, the Prime Minister argued. Justin had the impression Emmanuel wanted to end the conversation, and was polite enough to not say it clearly. Did he already want to go away?

  
“Ah, but diplomatic relationships are above governments. One day _she_ will get voted out and then whoever comes behind President Le Pen will have to repair the damage. It’s better if such damage is never done; as much as I disagree with the ideas of my president… she still was elected”

  
Justin put his hand over the Frenchman’s, as if he wanted to offer comfort for that unexplained defeat. But he looked mostly surprised by his gesture; Emmanuel, who had so often invaded his – and everyone else’s – personal space before all this weird alternate world came into life, seemed startled by his gesture. One thing was switching from calling him Mr. Trudeau to Justin in question of minutes and other thing was, visibly, to admit these gestures that in his own universe had been so natural between them. He retired his hand, blaming himself for forgetting this Emmanuel was not the same he had known, as much as he shared some of his traits, and the other man seemed relieved.

  
“By a small difference I have understood” he didn’t really know, but it was the only logical conclusion of the data he had been gathering.

  
“Yes, but that doesn’t make her less legitimate, abstention and all. It would be a consolation to think so, but imagine someone winning next elections by even a smaller margin and not being considered legitimate because of it” Emmanuel replied “That’s the kind of thing she would say, had the outcome been the one all of us expected. Including poor François… Did you read that letter he wrote on _Libération_?”

  
Justin then realized the poor François Emmanuel was speaking of was François Ruffin, one of his old schoolmates and well known by his opposition to Emmanuel’s politics. I don’t remember exactly what I am supposed to have done back then. Did I look at him in a weird way? We weren’t in the same classroom, he had told him once, scratching his head at Ruffin’s hostility.

  
“No”, he said, in all honesty.

  
“ _Open letter to a future president, already hated_ ”, he said from memoir “He repeated the sentence _you are hated, hated, hated_ , as if it was a _leitmotiv_ ” he pressed his lips, and then he finally added “And he was right, I guess, except in the president part. I mean no human being could lose against a Le Pen unless said creature was already hated by an important amount of voters. He was surprised when she won, of course, like everyone else, starting with her… There are reasons to believe she never wanted this, either; only to remain in the opposition, not dealing with the hard stuff. I think she was probably the unhappiest individual that night, even more than I was”.

  
Justin could believe that, given how Marine Le Pen had looked that morning, unhappy and tired. More unhappy than the Emmanuel he knew had ever looked, in spite of all the constant turmoil his presidency had been.

  
“Besides, she’s now like you or any of your fellow leaders without a real private life” ah, there was again, that spark of irony in his eyes “Imagine if you couldn’t go from one room to another of your house without someone yelling _Madame la Présidente!_ and opening the doors for you”

  
“These things don’t happen in Canada”, Justin said courteously. If Emmanuel was implying he did not envy Madame Le Pen, he wasn’t being entirely believable.

  
“Ah, yes, of course. The joys of having a monarch as a head of state”

  
“You have too… kind of. The Fifth Republic and all that” the Prime Minister replied “The Republic with the head of a monarchy. Or was it the opposite? That’s compensation for having guillotined your monarchs, you have to fill the void. With Bonaparte, De Gaulle or any other thing, like a president”

  
“I see you have been reading my old interviews. But these are monarchs we can oust in a civilized way, by voting them out. No need of severing heads”

  
“I do my research”, Justin said, ignoring the last comment about beheadings.

  
The look the former candidate gave to him was indecipherable.

  
Then they talked about movies, and then of music – his old fashioned tastes always there, as a constant in any alternate universe – and of literature, of the European dream he still harboured in his heart, of Brigitte who had remained in France – because she hated flying, was Emmanuel’s prompt clarification. Of Sophie and the kids, and of the absence of Melania Trump in the summit. And then there was nothing else to say, Justin realized with a hint of panic. He couldn’t retain this man for ever in the café, and, besides, the Prime Minister of Canada had other duties that meeting members of the French opposition, as much as they were supposed to belong to his own political family.

  
“It was a privilege to meet you and to share this conversation, Justin” the Frenchman said, suddenly getting up. “But I have a plane to take tomorrow in the morning, and you an awful lot of things to do, no doubt. You already gave me enough of your precious time”

  
That was an extremely flattering way to say he had to go, Justin thought, knowing that he had not further excuses to retain him there.

  
“Maybe we could leave you at your hotel” Justin offered, with the hope of having him near for some minutes more “I can offer you a ride”

  
Even if that seemed a bit desperate, Emmanuel seemed to think about it, maybe more time than it was necessary. He surely didn’t understand the Canadian Prime Minister’s sudden passion for him. Perhaps he was finding him scary.

  
“My hotel is near here”, the Frenchman finally said “no need to contaminate when I could get there in a simple walk”

  
“ _Make Your Planet Great Again_ , eh?”

  
Emmanuel looked at him, suddenly smiling again.

  
“Not bad, is that yours?” his head was slightly tilted.

  
“A friend of mine said that, once” Justin sighed “When Trump retreated from the Paris Accord”. It seemed like centuries ago. And it happened to be someone else’s idea.

Emmanuel had just delivered it, as he usually did, or at least as he did in these first times of his presidency. With incredible effectiveness. Not that it had made an effect on Donald.

  
“Ah, yes… The domino effect that withdrawal caused” Emmanuel was looking at the floor, pensive, and Justin didn’t dare to ask “I wonder if I had given more importance to that thing during the campaign… But it’s too late. Maybe Trump would have withdrawn anyway”.

  
“You can be sure”

  
The Frenchman got up, and he was echoed by Justin’s bodyguards, as if they expected he would hit their Prime Minister, or something worse. Emmanuel’s eyebrows raised.

  
“Well, they are very coordinated”, he mumbled, looking at them.

* * *

“So, what are your thoughts about 2022?”, Justin said as they walked down the street.

  
After the Frenchman had shaken his hand again and thanked him for the coffee and all that incredible amount of time, the Prime Minister had decided to walk with him to the hotel. Emmanuel didn’t seem opposed to the idea, even, to be honest, he didn’t approve, either.

  
“A bit early to think about that” the Frenchman replied, looking down “and, after all, as I said previously, when one has lost against a Le Pen…” and shaking his head, added “Besides, I don’t think my wife would like to go through all that again. The rumours and the stress of 2017 will seem nothing compared with what apparently awaits the candidates in 2022… With all these jerks out there; even if she would follow me, no matter what I decide… she always is there. Maybe…” there was a little hint of hope there “… Maybe I should try this the old way. You know, first the Assemblée, next the municipal elections I guess. The presidential elections in some years”.

  
The old way he had despised when he had run for president, because he was too bold, was too much in a hurry and knew too much that these elections were the perfect opportunity for someone like him. Justin examined his profile as they walked, illuminated by the street signs. He saw how his jaw tightened. Was that resolve? That indomitable spirit the man carried with him was still there, hidden under that pessimistic aura?

  
Around the corner, next to the hotel, there was a part of the street in shadows. Both men stopped. Justin realized that it was time to part from him, from the Emmanuel of this universe in which he had stepped.

  
“As I said previously, it was a privilege and a pleasure to share this time with you” he waited, his hand extended, ready to go away, for ever, maybe. Once, when he had visited Paris, Emmanuel had extended his hand just when he had go out of his car, in the courtyard of l’Élysée. The Prime Minister had decided to go for an embrace or for a kiss on the President’s cheek, and the cameras had immortalized the moment as an awkward and unresolved mix between a handshake and a kiss. How they had laughed when they had seen the images, later.

  
Maybe it was that moment he remembered, maybe the shadows in the street, that favoured his intentions, maybe it was Emmanuel’s presence, close enough for him to smell his perfume, the usual fragance he used to wear. But when he touched his palm – warm and firm, as usual – he pulled the other man to him, catching him unguarded. His lips bruised his beard, finally landed in the corner of Emmanuel’s mouth, and, once he felt their softness, he tilted his head so his mouth was in contact with that of the Frenchman’s. Somewhere in the street, a woman was laughing; she sounded as a handbell.

  
What did he wait from Emmanuel? A passionate response? His hands on his hair? But there was none of this, but a pressure of his hand on his shoulder, pushing him away. Softly but in a firm way. His kiss was unwelcome, Justin realized, as his eyes met with his.

  
“Why did you do that, Mr. Trudeau?” _Mr. Trudeau_. Not Justin. Before he had the time to make an apology, before he even realized they were still close enough for his lips to land, this time, on his cheek, a sudden flash of light illuminated his blue eyes and the shadow of another individual they had not noticed run on the opposite direction of the hotel.

  
 _Paparazzi_ , the Prime Minister realized, looking at Emmanuel’s face, pale and concerned, and then he heard the steps of his bodyguards as they run behind the photographer, determined to stop him. Maybe the remedy would be worse than the illness.

  
“Wait, don’t!…” Don’t hit him, he was about to yell, but before he even could complete the phrase, he saw how the two robust men caught the photographer, as agile as he was, and caught his camera. The woman, wherever she was, still laughed, as if something was really amusing her.

  
Emmanuel seemed to have turned into stone, as one of Justin’s bodyguards took brutally the camera from the photographer’s hands and raised it. The man protested, yelled, warned this would cause more scandal than the photos themselves – during how much time had he followed them? - but it was too late.

As the woman, still nowhere to be seen, was laughing, the bodyguard, exasperated, as his team mate had caught the photographer by his collar, threw the camera to the floor, where it broke into pieces with a resounding _clack_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all for now. Possibly will update very soon! Feel free to criticise and comment.


	4. Until you get it right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never think about tigers before going to sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, new chapter here! Not a very rejoicing one, but the next will be even more sad, so you are warned.  
> As Toni said in the beginning, Justin was up for a wild ride. Again forgive me for my gramatical mistakes and mispellings, some of which pass under the radar in spite (or because) of the autocorrector!

**4**

**Until you get it right**

When Justin opened his eyes, the woman’s laugh was still resounding in his head, and then silence was made. The first thing he saw was his wife’s face, still soundly asleep. His heart was pounding in his chest, and, as he recovered his breath and he calmed down, he realized where he was. In his hotel, after the dinner. He passed his hand over his face, thinking if he should awake her and tell about the weird dream he just had, but on second thoughts, it wasn’t very appropriate to speak to your own wife how you long to kiss one of your fellow leaders. What time was it, anyway? With a sigh, he reached for his phone, which was on the night stand. But his hand hit something that wasn’t supposed to be there. A warm body covered by feathers. There was another laugh, that came apparently from the armchair.

  
“Oh, the things these humans write”, a voice said. She laughed again.

  
He turned on the bed to look at the eagle, that was still there, and held the phone in its beak. Angry, the Prime Minister caught the device from it. The bird seemed scandalized by his brusqueness.

  
“Justin, sweetie, I know the first trip is harsh, but you don’t need to be so brusque with her. She only wants to help. You had threw it to the floor accidentally”.

  
He didn’t need to look in the armchair’s direction to know Toni was still there, a nightmare inside of the nightmare maybe. But he did it anyway. The creature was sitting on the armchair with her legs on the air, a sort of transparent e-book floating in front of her face. He could have read the text, if he had understood it, but Toni was reading something written in cuneiform characters. Sumerian? Apparently she had been reading and this caused her much hilarity. Sitting on the bed, he rested his head on his palms and closed his eyes. He had the feeling that he still could smell Emmanuel’s fragrance, see the shocked look in his blue eyes.

  
“Very well, I have learned my lesson, can you go away already?” he said, as he raised his eyes to look at Toni. She arched her eyes, sceptical.

  
“I am afraid I came here to grant you a wish, and that I am staying until you get it right. It’s always like that” she yawned, as if this conversation wasn’t new for her “I don’t make the rules, Justin”.

  
The Prime Minister looked at the screen on his phone; only an hour had passed since he had last checked it. Sighing, he left it again on the night stand, his movements followed by the eagle. The beak was still open, and the golden eyes looked at him regretfully.

  
“I am sorry”, he grumbled soothingly to the bird, feeling stupid “Was that what you wanted?”

  
The eagle closed its beak again, opening its wings. It looked terrifying, it wasn’t sure if the animal wanted to gouge his eyes or was rejoiced because he had apologized. Maybe a mix of the two, he said to himself as the animal jumped on the bed. Again no movement from Sophie.

  
“Well, that’s enough research for this night I guess” Toni got up and with a movement of her hand her device disappeared “Research about you, I must say. I read everything I can, fiction included. We archive everything” she lowered her voice, gave him a knowing look “Including porn, you know” she gave a long, languorous sigh that seemed to came from the depths of her very being “That thing I was reading, for example. It was funny, and it included the French President too…”

  
“What French President?” Justin said, awkwardly.

  
“Emmanuel Macron, who else? Is there any other French President right now?” her lashes fluttered innocently “So, in case you want to know what I was reading; you, Mr. Macron and a very dumb and pretty journalist that was interviewing you both were in a room and… when, two minutes later she pulled her panties out and was sandwiched between you two and apparently very pleased about it” she smiled, and her teeth were tiny and a little pointy “Even when ocasionally she was only resting and looking at both of you going on, something joining, something not”

  
Justin decided to ignore, for this time, the images that came to his mind and that didn’t include the dumb and pretty journalist joining at all. He concentrated in the important bit of information. Emmanuel was president, everything had gone back to normal. Then why did Toni remain here? When would she and that bird – it was incredible the animal’s claws weren’t tearing the sheets of his bed – go away?

  
“Come on, you are going to ask THE questions”, she said.

  
“THE questions?”

  
“Was it real? Who are you? What did you mean with getting it right? Did God send you?” she imitated a different tone of voice in every of these questions, going from sounding like a very stoned guy to an adorable – presumably old lady “Well, the answers are Yes, in certain way; A spirit, is evident; You’ll have to realize it by yourself; and, Of course, not”.

  
“As a matter of fact, only two of these questions were in my mind… And there was another one I wanted to ask you...”

  
She tilted her head.

  
“Another one? Ah, so you are one of these special customers, fine, that’s interesting”

  
“Why cuneiform?”

  
Toni smirked, genuinelly surprised at the question. And one would say even flattered.

  
“Because it was an Ancient Akkadian translation, you silly. A very accurate one I must say, given the things one can find out there…” she made a dismissive gesture with her hand “The joys of being multilingual are infinite and our ability to read or talk in no matter which language is essential to our job. And let me add that the new generations are being… How would I put that? A bit underprepared; go figure they never want to learn Latin with the excuse of the language being dead…

  
“As dead as Ancient Akkadian?” he replied, noticing she hadn’t answered his question anyway.

  
“That’s exactly what I told them” she shrugged “It would be deeply incoherent, don’t you think?”.

  
Of all the things he could have expected from Toni, having a mother or younger generations of spirits learning the job weren’t on the list.

  
“Well, apart from that question I guessed 50%, not bad. I’ve seen worse.” she repeated something to herself, softly. Justin wondered if she was swearing.

  
“So we are back in the world like I left it yesterday, where he won the elections, there are not patriotic brigades…”

  
“And has his own amount of problems, of course, but basically yes. We are back to the starting point, but with an hour less than we had before. And you’ll never get to read _Postmortem analysis_ it seems. It’s a pity, it’s really well written, will eventually get an award”

  
“So that alternate reality did…” he could have asked what would happen with Emmanuel, apart from having some kind of compensation with that literary award. But he did not.  
“Exist, yes. You created it, with a little help of yours truly of course, but I won’t be immodest enough to claim its authorship”, she said casually “Oh, please behave”.

  
Justin realized the eagle had found a thread and was playing with it, like a budgie or a canary would do. The animal seemed startled by her scolding and vanished from the bed.

“She’s angry, but she’ll come back” there was a little hint of doubt in her voice “I hope so, at least. Once we had a problem with one of these… A friend of mine; poor lad, he was demoted only because his client had imagined him as Mowgli when he fights against Shere Khan. Not the one from the animated movie…”

  
“Do you watch Disney movies up there, too?” Justin said, amused.

  
“Who said we live up there? No, silly. I love when you are dumb, Justin, you look really cute, I would write some of these things with dumb and pretty journalists involved” she said flirty “Pity I can’t have… Well, I digress. No, he had been reading Kipling. Illustrated edition. Way worse that what happened with that dragon, I assure you”.

  
Again, he didn’t dare to ask, it was becoming a trend these days. Night. Whatever.

  
“So, how many opportunities I have to, as you said, get it right? Three I guess?”

  
She rolled her eyes. There were again yellow sparks flying from her head.

  
“Ah, no, Justin, I told you that you are very cute when you are dumb, not that you should be stupid the whole time” she run her fingers through her hair and a mirror materialized in front of her “This is really fashionable, but not comfortable at all…” she mumbled, as she tried to loosen it a bit. But she had barely made her bun a bit less thigh when it went automatically back to the portrait’s original appearance. The mirror vanished and she sighed “Well, always the same… We should change the rules someday”  
It seemed that she couldn't change the way in which she had first appeared to him.

  
“So three chances, is that?” he insisted.

  
“I said until you get it right” more yellow sparks flew away from her head “Maybe is more than three, who knows. Oh, look, she’s back” one second later, the eagle materialized in the desk, throwing Sophie’s handbag to the floor “You are misbehaving, have you no shame? Pick that thing from the floor!”

  
It was comical to see the animal obey, jumping from the desk and taking the handbag in its beak, then putting it back in its place. Until something inside caught its attention and its head plunged inside. Justin had the feeling Sophie wouldn’t like that if she could see it. Instead, he looked at Toni, who snapped her fingers. The handbag vanished and materialized again on Justin’s lap, leaving a very astonished bird looking at the carpet.

  
“Do you still want it? Are you asking your syndicate to keep that bird?” Justin said taking his wife’s handbag and putting it on the night stand.

  
“Her” Toni hissed “For Heaven’s sake, Justin, she’s not a thing.

  
Maybe she wasn’t a thing, but it wasn’t clear what it was.

  
“I think I am going to file a complaint against you, unless you explain clearly what I am supposed to get right about my wish” he sighed. “You know I wanted to…”

  
“Spend time with Emmanuel, that seemed clear to me. Well, you did. And I can’t explain you clearly what you should get right, it’s your task to know what you really want” 

“Yes, but that didn’t mean I wanted Le Pen winning the elections instead of him”, Justin argued.

  
“Justin, dear, I find hardly believable that you are not aware that sometimes we don’t get exactly what we want. You wanted a different life for him and that’s what you got. And more time than you ever had”

  
“But he didn’t…”

  
“Respond in the way you expected” she walked to the armchair, sit again on it. The eagle at last recovered from its, or rather her shock and walked to her side, tugging at her dress. She caressed the eagle’s head and the animal emitted a little joyous chirp “Well, that’s the problem of not asking him first about…”

  
That was a fair criticism, Justin said to himself. The next time he would remember he shouldn’t kiss the President without his permission.

  
“I didn’t want to see him so unhappy, and wondering if he was really so hated to lose an election running against a member of the Le Pen family. It is so undeserved. I didn’t want Le Pen as president, and all these patriotic brigades, and… He doesn’t deserve to be remembered like that”.

  
“Very nice, you are starting to be more precise”, she said, sighing, crossing her arms over her breast “And patient. Good boy, Justin, we did some progress”.

  
But something in her eyes said him that it was not enough. For some reason he had expected she would appear at his side and mess with his hair as she said that. But instead she snapped her fingers and the semi-transparent device appeared again. Apparently prepared to resume her read about the dumb but pretty journalist who was enjoying her – their? - threesome. But first she looked at him, expectant.

  
“Very well then” she recapitulated “You don’t want him to lose the elections. You don’t want him to feel unhappy…” it was like he was ordering some kind of ice cream to eat and she was having a hard time remembering the toppings.

  
“Or hated” Justin added. That was not being selfish, was it?

  
“Honey, he ran for president, he knew being hated came with the job, but if you want so…” she sighed “So, you are sure of trying again already...”

  
“Yes”, Justin said “What are the consequences of, as you put it, not getting it right quickly enough?”

  
“Ah, of course. We should include that in our FAQs” Toni answered “Some of you can’t resist it. We have had some…” she cleared her voice ”problems with deprivation of sleep in certain occasions”. Maybe she meant deaths.

  
“But I was asleep until you woke me up the first time…” Justin objected “And after”. But it was true that he had felt horribly tired.

  
“Maybe, but not enough” she said, squinting her eyes “So do me a favour and try to figure out before you really pass out. You are too cute to end in the hospital, Justin”. The eagle rested her head in Toni’s lap.

  
“I’ll try not to” he said, in an optimistic tone.

  
“Very well then. Wish granted, again”; snapping her fingers again, she made her e-book vanish, as if she had second thoughts, mumbling something “I will not be in the mood of reading this right now” she said with a curious touch of sadness “Wish granted, Mr. Prime Minister. And good night”.

  
He lied in his bed again and closed his eyes, wondering why she had seemed so downhearted.

* * *

He opened his eyes a second or two before there was that knock in the door. Instinctively he looked at the painting in the wall, and then rolled in the bed to greet Sophie. His wife stirred and smiled at him.

  
“Excuse me, Prime Minister, but it's already half past nine” his assistant said at the other side of the door, like the previous day. Or trip.

  
“Good morning”, he whispered with a smile. Sophie looked at him, responding to his smile with another one.

  
“Who are you and what you did with my early rising husband?” but, instead of kissing him in his lips, she caressed his cheek with tenderness. “I thought you were going to run early this morning, you said yesterday that it would do good to you before starting with the bilaterals”.

  
“Yes, but I didn’t sleep that well” a second knock on the door, more insistent.

  
“I understand, darling” Sophie replied softly “Can’t say the same of myself, It has been a long time since I slept so well. I’ll open myself, go and take your shower or you’ll be late for your meeting with the French President. Don’t make him wait”

  
_Him_. So Le Pen was out of the picture this time. The Prime Minister felt relieved and closed his eyes during a moment.

  
“Justin, are you all right?” Sophie looked at him, concerned. She was picking her handbag from the night stand “How weird, I am pretty sure this wasn’t here last night”.

  
The Canadian Prime Minister sat carefully on the bed, feeling a bit dizzy. His assistant entered the room, talking, like the day before, about the schedule of the day. He greeted her and went to the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. There were dark shadows under his eyes and these were a bit reddened. He felt tired, as if he was floating; he would need some coffee before the meeting, if he didn’t want to fell asleep during his conversation with Emmanuel, who would probably laugh at him for the rest of the day if such a thing happened. But he was running out of time, and he stepped under the shower, trying to erase the memories of his previous trip. All seemed normal – minus the handbag thing – but things had seemed normal last time, too.

  
Once dressed, he followed his assistant to the car that would take the Canadian delegation to the convention centre.

  
“The French left earlier for the summit, it seems” she said, looking at her phone. Someone from said delegation was apparently sending her messages “They had some things to fix first”

  
“About Mercosur?”

  
“Yes. They have doubts, and no matter the moment France is going through, farmers won’t take it easily; they don’t want protest right now. Justin adjusted his tie. So there would be protests in France. Of course” she was very serious and didn’t say any more, until they arrived to their destination.

  
“The French President is already waiting for you. He arrived early this morning” his assistant said looking at the screen again. She managed to walk at a fast pace and send messages at the same time.

  
“Well, that’s an improvement for the last time, I must say. Last time he wouldn’t arrive on time, even if his life depended on that”, Justin replied smiling. It was quite the inoffensive joke, but his assistant gave him a weird look. Her eyes opened widely, and concern - and something more - was so obvious that the Prime Minister instantly knew he had said something wildly tasteless and inappropriate “I am sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night” he said as an apology. But she still looked away, in front of her, not amused by his innocent joke. As they approached the door of the room, a sense of fear gained him, vague but implacable.

He stepped into that room with his heart beating wildly. The armchairs were on a different position than in the previous trip, and a man was seated on one of them. Even if he only saw the back of his head from his position, it was very evident that he wasn’t Emmanuel. This man had white hair, and looked way more stout. When Justin softly closed the door behind his back, he stood up and turned to look at him. He swallowed when he recognized him. Gérard Larcher. The President of the French Senate and now, of the Republic.

  
“Forgive me, Mr. Trudeau, but I was exhausted, I had to sit while I waited for you” he extended his hand. As if he was floating, again, and feeling barely awake, Justin nevertheless saved the distance and shook Larcher’s hand.

  
If Emmanuel had won the elections, there were a handful of reasons why this man, and not him, was there. And none of them was good, not from his point of view, not for anyone involved.

  
Maybe he was ill, so gravely ill that he was unable to perform his duties, and needed to be substituted by the older, evidently unhappy and tired man he had before his eyes.

  
Maybe he had resigned. But how, and why? This seemed so unlike him that Justin discarded the idea instantly.

  
Or maybe he had been impeached. But the destitution of a French president was a long, almost impossible to succeed process, and it was subject to a very specific series of reasons.

  
There was one reason left of why this man was in charge in the period between whatever had happened and presidential elections. The one that he didn’t dare to imagine. The one that would explain his assistant concerned look when he had made that joke about Emmanuel never arriving on time. _Toni, what have you done_ , he thought.

  
_Emmanuel was dead_.

  
He had his answer when Larcher said to him:

  
“We had not meet privately since the state funeral in Paris, if I remember correctly. No one can forget your eulogy at Saint Sulpice” he tapped his hand with his reddish ones, as Justin felt his legs would fail him in one or other moment “But there was no way to avoid this summit…”

  
Finally, his hand slipped from Larcher’s, and he left himself fall on the armchair. Emmanuel was dead, he repeated to himself, as the Canadian and French flags became a blurry, colourful spot.

  
_You still didn’t got it right_ , a sad voice protested inside his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that's it. I don't know if I should add "hope you enjoyed" given the circumstances.  
> Hope you did, anyway. And until the next one. Evidently Justin has still to "get it right" and will meet "his", or some other Emmanuel in the meantime.


	5. There the eyes fall asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which feathers cause malfunction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, new chapter of this, as I call it, "experiment" with poor Justin not sleeping at all. As I do usually I beg your pardon because of the possible mispellings there. And won't add anything else but enjoy.

**5**

**There the eyes fall asleep**

France had said its last farewell to its youngest president a day of spring, short time after his heart had been stopped for ever by a bullet, during the commemorations of the 8th of May. The ceremony had barely ended – flowers at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, rekindling of the flame, indulging in little talk with veterans – when the shot had hit him, before the eyes of his Prime Minister, part of the government and a selected group of guests, some of them children of French military men who had died in anti terrorist missions. The scene had taken by surprise the commentators on TV that prattled endlessly about banalities and had caused them to shriek with horror, echoing the reactions in the Place de l’Étoile. Nothing could be done to save his life. Nothing could explain the security failures that lead to the successful attack on his life. The moment later, a bunch of terrorist organizations claimed the authorship. All kind of conspiracy theories appeared when the man who was arrested that same night turned out to be a random Frenchman that had read too much Facebook pages about the Treaty of Marrakesh or France selling Alsace and Lorraine to Germany. His trial would be held in several months, once the inquiry was over. Far from being the fruit of some terrorists organization, the death of the President seemed to be the bitter fruit of the expansion of fake news. He was isolated in prison; apparently having survived an attempt of being lynched in his way there.

From the European Union and the rest of the World the reactions of stupor and grief had arrived, not as exaggerated as the French ones, but still they were of the kind one would expect for the man that had been receive with surprise and impossible expectations back in 2017 and that, even two years later, had been one of the brightest stars of the political stage. At least, outside France. Inside, things were different, but as Emmanuel told him once, trying to rebel against the leader was a well established French tradition. Justin, I don’t think you can understand, but it’s part of us. The European Parliament had decided to name a hall after him; there were already two docudramas and a biopic in the making if one believed rumours, and books being re-edited. There were no discordant voices in the chorus.

As in a national catharsis, suddenly all the President’s flaws – the real and the imaginary – were erased in the days that followed, before and after the national homage and the state funeral. There were talks of his intelligence, his culture, his youth and his boldness, his visionary plans for Europe, his charisma and his meteoric conquer of power in the presidential elections. The almost hysterical display of sorrow and, one would say, love that followed to the almost hysterical display of, if not hatred, at least detestation, would have amused him, Justin thought during his customary research of the things that had happened since then. Or maybe not, maybe he would have considered such hypocrisy with disdain, considering how many of these praising him now had been extremely vitriolic in their criticism in the past. Who could know… And there was the state funeral, with Saint-Sulpice – Notre Dame being closed due to the fire – full of world leaders and celebrities, and – echoing what had happened decades before with Baltique and Mitterrand – Emmanuel’s adopted dog Nemo waiting at the gates of the church, his leash held by a grey-haired bodyguard.

Talk with President Larcher had been depressing, evidently. He had barely pay attention to this caretaker that would be out of office in some months, as French people were already divided between Le Pen and Édouard Philippe, Emmanuel’s former Prime Minister and the new popular man among those who claimed to be the _martyr president_ ’s heir. It was like the rest didn't exist, like political landscape was, still, a field of ruins. Talk was over in barely twenty minutes.

“Monsieur Trudeau?” a voice had called him back in French, as he was reuniting with his assistant “Can I have a word with you? It is important”

He looked back to see one of the members of the French delegation, a woman who seemed a younger, dumbed down copy of Christine Lagarde. Well, she maybe wasn’t dumbed down. He didn’t know the woman after all, and he wasn’t sure either if she existed in his own universe, maybe under other form.

“I am sorry, but I have another couple of bilaterals before I go to the working sessions. Maybe later?” he saw the woman frowning, and said to himself that he had made a mistake, perhaps “Excuse me, my assistant can help you with this I guess”.

The woman opened her mouth, as if she wanted to add something, but he was already out of there. It was after the first part of the working session when he decided to torture himself watching the video of Emmanuel’s funeral. Part of it anyway.

“You shouldn’t be watching that again, Justin”, a female voice said at his back. There was concern, and a hint of disapproval in her tone.

He knew whose voice was, but he was hooked on the images on his screen. Himself, at Saint Sulpice. Still, he had not raised the volume because it didn’t seem appropriate while they were in a corner of the meeting room, in a brief pause between two working sessions. But he could see his own gestures; his head bowing, eyes closed, while – as subtitles indicted - the fragments of Bach’s _Saint Matthew’s Passion_ were performed - _Wir setzen uns mit Tränen nieder_ , which closed with the verse There the eyes fall asleep; again he thought he had seen a clone of Toni among the members of the chorus, but the woman turned out to have a different eye colour and the shape of her lips wasn‘t similar to the spirit‘s, or whatever she really was -, his hand to his heart, when he pronounced his name; his eyes again reddening and tears being blinked back when he had finished the eulogy. The camera shifting and focusing on the widow, her face half covered by sunglasses, or in the coffin covered by a tricolour along with the European flag – the latter causing certain controversy - as other ex presidents sat in the first row, two of them pretty shocked, the third on, and oldest - Giscard – appearing solemn and adequately grave, but not shocked at all. Above all, beyond his own image, what haunted him was, evidently, the coffin.

“Justin, please” the woman insisted, putting one of her hands on his shoulder. Her own face had appeared on the screen, always with a severe version of her usually invariable pant suit, only that that day she wore black and she appeared as shaken as all the rest of world leaders that sat on that side of the church. Well, maybe Donald looked mostly annoyed, even if he appeared to behave correctly enough. It was an uncertain hand, one that didn’t know exactly if the gesture would be well received. But he made clear this attempt at consolation was welcome, and his hand covered that of the woman for a second or two. Then she retired hers, but sat at his side, as Justin paused the video of Emmanuel’s funeral. He had chosen this corner where no cameras would produce more images of Justin Trudeau with tears running down his cheeks.

“I am sorry, Angela” it was everything he could manage to say in that moment. Even if he knew that sooner or later he would be expelled from this alternate reality as he had been from the other the sorrow was very real, unbearable, overwhelming. Or at least he expected to be expelled. What if in one or other way he was forced to remain here. The mere idea was insufferable, the shock too rude.

“There’s no need to apologize, Justin. I know what he meant for you”, the German chancellor replied “It’s only that watching it over and over again won’t help” she patted his back, with an attitude that resembled a certain awkward tenderness. He thought she was going to add some words but she limited herself to sit at his side, silent. The Prime Minister locked his phone again and put it back inside his jacket. He knew, because he had seen the miniatures in the videos related, that images of his death existed, but that was something he didn’t want to see, not now, not in this world, not in the one where came from; never “But we have a working session ahead of us” fortunately she didn’t add and life goes on. It was the kind of comment that would made him furious right now. And it would be unfair to be rude to her; she seemed to be the only one that cared about how he was feeling about.

“I know”, the Canadian Prime Minister replied. “I know”. She touched his arm and left, while he briefly buried his face between his hands. He felt so tired. So much information and emotions in so little time.

Life went on, yes, with an insufferable touch of banality. Donald had quarrelled with someone; his commercial war against China and the countries of the European Union went on. In France, every single political side had tried to held the president’s death as a part of their propaganda. His own party elevating him to the category of a martyr, and building the campaign around his legacy; the Rassemblement National, making terrorism a key point of their programme, because, if the President wasn’t safe, then, who could be? And so forth and so on. The fact that the man that had shot him wasn’t one of these Muslims they were obsessed about seemed to escape them. Anyway everyone was focused now in the upcoming presidential elections. The European Union still had to agree to name a President and the Commission, and it seemed that Mr. Weber would be the one. Putin was sitting with one of his translators on his corner, as Theresa May looked at him as if she wanted to unleash all the force of the Royal Navy on his head.

“Mr Trudeau?” his assistant was there, a slight hesitation in her voice. He looked at her, without making any comment.

“Yes?”

“After the working session there’s that member of the French delegation that wants to talk to you. She insists”

“Regarding?” he said, suddenly remembering that woman. Absurdly, he thought that the attack had been staged and that somewhat Emmanuel was alive. In some desert island, waiting for him. Why not? If suddenly in his life there were spirits that read fan fiction translated into ancient Akkadian, nothing would surprise him “Why didn’t President Larcher told me directly?”

“She’s about to call you” the assistant said “She only mentioned that there were some things to… fix” it seemed evident that she hadn’t told her which things needed to be fixed, in the first place.

Indeed the telephone vibrated. Apparently he had no option but answering it.

“ _Monsieur Trudeau?_ ” the voice on the other side of the line asked.

“Yes, I…”

“ _You told me that there would be a possibility of discussing certain things during the pause of the working meeting. I know the pause is already taking place. Can I have now that word with you?_ ” she said, resolutely cutting him off.

“I am sorry, Madame…”

“ _Darzac. Madame Darzac. I had no time to introduce myself properly_ ” as in _you didn’t give me the time_ , she didn’t need to say that, Justin could realize it alone “Can I have your attention for a moment?”

“If it’s about the commercial treaty between my country and the European Union, I thought I had made my opinion clear to your president. He was pretty clear about respecting our previous agreements”

“ _The president has nothing to do with this, neither have commercial treaties_ ”, Madame Darzac went on “ _At least not president Larcher, he’s not the subject of our conversation_ ”.

“Then who…”

“ _President Macron_ ” she said; Justin’s heart skipped a beat “ _Naturally not him directly, but something that he left behind. We must take care of it, Monsieur Trudeau. I think you know what I am talking about_.” no, he had no idea of what Emmanuel had left behind that also could involve him, Justin thought, discouraged “ _We can met in your hotel later in the evening_ ”.

Why at the hotel? However, there was something that puzzled him even more.

“ _Your wife can be present if she wish so_ ” Madame Darzac seemed to sigh, but Justin was not sure she had the ability of doing so, to such extreme she seemed cold to him “ _I know she will remain discreet, as well_ ”

 _Sophie_? What had Sophie to do with that?

“I understand…” the Prime Minister went on. No he didn’t, but he wanted to hide it.

  
“ _Very well then. I expected you would understand my situation, or rather our situation. I’ll see you later, Mr. Trudeau. I’ll send you an SMS once I’m there_ ” the phone call ended there. Justin raised his eyes to find those of his assistant, probably as puzzled as he was.

“Yes, I had forgotten I had some things to discuss again. No need to worry” he got up and went to his seat, just next to Modi. The man took advantage of the situation to wrap him in one of his trademark embraces, almost suffocating him.

* * *

When he went back to the hotel Sophie was in their room, changing the dress she had been wearing while sightseeing for something more comfortable but, still, elegant. The wardrobe was open and she had placed a wooden box on the bed, a little golden key on top of it. Justin had not seen that box before, an exquisite work, maybe a present from the wife of the Japanese Prime Minister. She kissed him in his cheek with the same tenderness she had shown early in the morning, full of affection and sadness, but without a hint of passion. In a very careful way indeed, as if his wife seemed worried he could break before her eyes, apparently.

“How did your day go?” she asked, softly. She removed some inexistent bit of dust from his collar. Her hands remained against his chest after.

“I… well enough, I guess” the day had been an excruciating torture for him indeed, but he wasn't going to tell that. Besides, he was tired, terribly tired. It seemed that whatever sleep problems these trips caused they were already taking their toll. That leaving aside he had been thinking about how getting things right, as his least favourite Marie Antoinette cosplayer had said. No idea yet. Why an innocent wish formulated at the garden had evolved into this?

His telephone vibrated. He looked at the screen. The member of the French delegation, Madame Darzac or whoever she was, waited for him in one of the hotel’s conference rooms. There were several, of different sizes and some of them more discreet than others. Sophie saw the expression of his face and guessed.

“It’s her, isn’t it? The woman from the French delegation” she looked him in the eyes “Madame...”

“Darzac. So you knew already she was going to come…” Justin replied, more and more disoriented, taking her hands between his.

“Yes, of course” she sighed, let her hands slip and turned away to pick the wooden box she had left on the bed. She put it in his hands, taking the key herself, so it didn’t fall and got lost “I know you don’t want to do this, but its the right thing to do if we don’t want…” she seemed to struggle to find an adequate word “to have problems in the future. And for him is the better too, even if he is…” she smiled sadly, avoiding to say dead “As Brigitte said to me after the funeral, he was quite old fashioned with these things”.

What things? Whatever it was, his wife wasn’t even mad about it, and maybe the same was for Brigitte, but there was no way he could know her opinion… The wooden, exquisite box, discreetly decorated with a little motif of maple leaves, cold at it was, seemed to burn the skin of his palms. So apparently this was his, and had been for a while. There was a little lock and a key, the kind of lock and key one would use in a private diary. To guarantee a certain level of secrecy, but not safe enough to resist much force. Sophie pressed his arm with her hands.

“I thought you would agree in that opening the box in their presence would made they feel more sure” Sophie sighed “Besides, you have read them a thousand times in the last weeks. It’s better that way. They brought the ones you wrote, too, and they’ll be also gone. You know perfectly I don’t hold this against you… or against him; I forgave it already, now it’s time to forget”.

Letters, Justin said to himself. Emmanuel, who was, indeed, so fond of sending messages via Telegram or WhatsApp – sometimes with an incredible amount of emojis and a language that would cause much amusement in people that didn’t know him enough – had sent him letters, as if they were in the 19th century. Letters… it seemed incredible, as much as the fact that he had answered these letters. As he walked with Sophie to that room holding the wooden box in his hands, he imagined the content of these, apparently, compromising documents that had to be destroyed in the name of his, and the president’s post mortem reputation, and an idea was forming in his mind. Which kind of letter would require his wife’s forgiveness? Surely not a political intrigue, or some talk about commercial treaties.

No, they were of a more private nature. There was no doubt about it. What if… what if in this universe, Emmanuel and him… What if his crush, of his love, had been requited here?

He had the answer when they arrived to the conference room – there were two tall men with dark suites waiting outside the door - and they were confronted with Madame Darzac, who was going harder in looking like a Christine Lagarde wannabe, foulard with rococo motives included. There was a wooden box similar to his – but in a lighter tone, and the motif was different, maybe oak leaves – on the table, and two little shredders ready to work. It was evident to whom that box had belonged. There were disposable nitrile gloves next to them.

“Good evening, Mr. Trudeau”, she said “I thank you for your evident good will. I know this is a delicate affair for you and your wife”. Justin nodded, incapable of saying anything; she didn’t sound as if she felt the least trace of empathy. She sounded, yes, efficient, courteous and adequately grave. Just like in the phone call. But nothing more. “Are all of these in the box?”

“Yes” Sophie said instead of him. She saved the distance between herself and the table, leaving the key there. The Frenchwoman looked at her, not at all surprised. She put on a pair of nitrile gloves and looked at the Prime Minister, silently inviting him to do the same.

“You must excuse me for my question. I have to be sure that no letter survives; we don’t want these to be leaked to the press, or to appear in a book in the next months. We have a presidential campaign before us, and no need of resurrecting old gossip to distract our citizens” she made a gesture and Justin placed the box on the table, his heart sinking. He picked a pair of gloves for himself. Madame Darzac took a little golden key from her pocket and introduced it in the lock of the box she had brought, Emmanuel’s box no doubt; guessing he had to do the same, Justin opened his, too. He wondered how many times his own self, in this parallel universe, had done this and read the letters enclosed there. How old fashioned indeed “Shall we begin?” Madame Darzac asked, and opened the box. A pile of folded letters was inside, and he recognized his own handwriting. “I’ll be handing you these one for one, so you destroy them personally. You will do the same with your box and I’ll put them on the shredder”

With trembling fingers, Justin opened it. His eyes fell on the first letter, dated on 2017, few days after Taormina.

 _My dear Justin, it read_. He brushed the sheet of paper with his fingertips before taking it from its box. These three words. It was like he was alive at his side, again, saying them. _My dear Justin, the letter went on as it unfolded when he took it out of the box Angela told me the other day that he saw us walking around the garden after the first night after the summit, and I am afraid she also saw…_

“Mr Trudeau?” the Frenchwoman asked, handing him one of his own letters. He had no interest on what said paper of paper contained and destroyed it immediately. He only could see Emmanuel’s handwriting, Emmanuel’s words. About to be erased of this world. Like in a second death.

Madame Darzac grew impatient, apparently. He let the letter go and she picked it, putting it on the shredder. He watched as the letter was destroyed, but as the sheet was already half destroyed, the shredder abruptly stopped.

“I am sorry, we seem to have a problem”, Madame Darzac apologized as she unplugged the shredder and removed the safety cover to look if there was something stuck between the blades “It seems it’s jammed”. Justin’s eyes were glued to the last part of the letter.

“… _said it was a mistake and you maybe were right... In a certain way I feel this is not the right thing to do, you know we are not free. But at the same time, I think we should try. I am longing to see you again. I am so impatient for Hamburg. Yours truly, Emmanuel_ ”.

“Ah, there was the problem” Madame Darzac said triumphant. She held something in her fingers, something that resembled the long feather of a bird of prey. Similar to the feather of a golden eagle. He felt Sophie’s hand on his shoulder “I apologize”, Madame Darzac said, sounding very, very far away.

She plugged in the shredder again, and the blades devoured the French president’s words of uncertainty and, maybe, hope, until there was nothing left. The machine stopped with a _clack_ , waiting for the next letter to be destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one thing, the chorus of St. Matthäus Passion which I make allusion to in this chapter is a well known one:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZnlgMgou-g  
> That's all for today... hope you enjoyed and until the next one.


	6. Not compatible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can birds have crushes on Prime Ministers? Discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new chapter for today. The story is arriving to its conclusion so there are few of them left. As usual remember that English is not my first language. Maybe there are mistakes there, so I ask for indulgence once more.

**6**

**Not compatible**

He was awakened by his own sobs, but with feeling still a weigh on his chest, something that was more than the heartbreak he had felt during the trip; he opened his eyes to find the eagle laying on his chest like a cat, and its - or her, he corrected himself - golden eyes looking at him, head tilted, while playing with one of her own feathers. Like Toni’s laugh, the apparition of the feather had preceded the end of the alternate universe in which Emmanuel was dead. He was so relieved that he caressed the bird; immediately the eagle offered him her chest, wanting more attention. He looked at the side of the bed where Sophie slept. There she was; he touched her cheek and she smiled in her dreams, but not stirred; . Finally he looked to the armchair where Toni was contemplating him, her eyes solemnly fixated on his own.

  
“Welcome back”, the spirit said; and then, unexpectedly, added “Are you feeling all right?”

  
“Relieved”, Justin answered. The eagle was softly pushing his fingers with her head. Clearly wanted more caresses. “He is…”

  
“Given the hour, maybe he has just fallen asleep; but I am not sure, that’s not my job”, Toni answered; Justin sighed. That was much better than all the letters in the world, even than love letters coming from his hand “And very much alive, yes” Justin smiled. The eagle emited a little contented sound and vanished from his chest, leaving a little cloud of feathers – which floated for a second or two and disappeared—behind her.

  
“Where did she go now?” the Prime Minister asked, genuinely curious. Not that he missed the weight of a magical bird or whatever on his chest; as much as incorporeal the animal was, the weight seemed very real “I don’t think I said or did anything to offend her now”.

  
“Oh, you didn’t. She’s overjoyed because you caressed her” Toni smiled, gave a sigh, put her hands over her heart “She may have a crush. No that I blame her, honey” evidently her solemn demeanour had lasted very little. And that bit about the eagle having a crush sounded so weird that he preferred to ignore it. He looked at the screen of his phone; only half an hour had been spent since their last conversation, and yet he felt more tired than he had been after the first time. “I know, I know”, Toni said, calmly “I’m stopping being frivolous and telling you why this one was shorter”

  
“Very well, I am all ears” he said, even if his attention span was suffering from the roller-coaster and not proper sleep.

  
“It is very obvious, because you suffered. The first time you were just disoriented, but this one was…” she was clearly searching for the word “Hum. Do you know what word was used in Spain before _spoiler_ was popular? When someone told you the end of a movie, or a series, or...”

  
“I am afraid I don’t understand. And no, I don’t know, so could you please elaborate?”

  
“Not that I knew exactly what was going to happen…” she apologized in advance.

  
“You seem to be ill-informed about your own job then” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He almost had expected the eagle to leave some mark there, but there was nothing “I know what spoiler means in the context of films or literature, then tell me what has that thing to do with…”

  
“ _Destripar_. Which means _eviscerate_. Pedro told me once. These Spaniards are very graphic with certain things, like you were torturing the movie to see from what it’s made and...”

  
“Sánchez?” Justin asked, curious and feeling a little less bad if other leaders had experienced the same than he was doing.

  
“No, silly” she rolled her eyes “Almodóvar. Boy was that awkward, he imagined me as one of the characters of his porn novel; he wasn’t that famous back then. I was dressed, though. The problem was the style, too modern, I looked not much different of that dog they had as a mascot in Barcelona 92” she made a dismissive gesture with her hands “Well, I digress, what I wanted to say is that maybe the word _destripar_ defines how do you felt”

  
Like if his heart and other vital organs had been tore up from his body? Maybe. Still, was an extravagant thing to say…

  
“So these trips are shorter than average. Experience has shown us that it’s better not to make them too long, as the client can sometimes commit the irreparable” she pronounced the last word in a very low voice.

  
“The irreparable?”

  
Toni looked down, as she fidgeted with her yellow tunic. Evidently this wasn’t a comfortable thing to talk about, but he wasn’t the only one who was going to feel uncomfortable tonight.

  
“I mean some of them have wanted to… you know. Put an end to all that, since they couldn’t get things right and because some of the trips made them suffer too much. So they have jumped out of a cliff, or something similar believing that this would force them out of the trip, when actually…”

  
So they committed suicide during the trips like that guy trapped on Groundhog day but visiting those alternate universes didn’t preserve them from death. Fine. Is not that being deprived of sleep was healthy, either.

  
“I see you have many things to add to your FAQs” he said harshly.

  
“Ah, I agree with that” Toni said unexpectedly “This was one of the subjects of our strikes some years ago. It was intersectional with other spirits; we celebrated one of the biggest demonstrations in our history but in the end we obtained some concessions. Like the flexibility of the Type D trip, which is subject to a limitation in time” she pressed her lips “There was no way we could assure the well being of our clients without certain boundaries.”

  
“Type D…?” it was true that imagining someone that – at least right now - looked like Marie Antoinette on strike and during a protest was certainly something else.

  
“For Death, obviously. Of a loved one; a friend, a lover, a relative… even pets. One time, with Liz…”

  
“Taylor?”

  
“Could you stop trying to guess, darling? You are not good at it. No, Justin” her finger pointed to her brow, as if she was pointing to an imaginary crown “When, this was one of her corgis, her favourite. She was sooo devastated and relieved when the trip was over, ufff. I clarify that the dog was actually very much alive. Just like your Emmanuel”.

  
He didn’t know where to start, if by asking her if she had been on first name terms with Her Majesty or rather confident enough to give her a nickname – and why not, after all, she seemed to be in first name terms with the entire Humanity, at least the ones she got to visit – or if she actually pretended to compare the shock of the corgi’s death with the one he had felt. Or Emmanuel to a corgi.

  
“So that’s why these are shorter and take a great toll on you all. The shock is too rude and the sooner is over the better”

  
“But still I don’t get why these D Type trips exist”

  
“Well, they are made of your desires, your fears… They are only powered by us, you know. It’s evident that you are worried about what could happen to him”

Mortally worried, sometimes, yes.

  
“He was dead in that universe, wasn’t he?”

  
“Totally, absolutely and irremediably dead, yes, I am sorry to say you that because at some point you expected it was all a huge conspiracy and he was somewhere else waiting for you and to go on with your affair”.

  
“So these letters…” Justin said; it was no use to ask her about the way in which his mind was read during the trips.

  
“Love letters, yes. In that universe, you really fell for each other in Taormina, although you managed to control it until the G20. That’s why you both looked so exhausted during the concert after the first day of the summit in Hamburg. The one with Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Which means that you didn’t wait that much and that Angela Merkel thought she had saw something at Taormina… that didn't’ really happen there, but did happen later and under her nose”

  
So it really had happened… In other universe, in other life, Emmanuel and him had been lovers, and, like in the old novels of the 19th Century the French President appreciated so much, they had written letters to each other.

  
“No one will know, ever?” Justin “In that universe, I mean”.

  
“The letters you gave to Madame Darzac were destroyed. But you had kept one at Ottawa. Not explicit. Extremely beautiful, you know he has a way with words. Ambiguous enough for future historians to speculate about the nature of your relationship. But that will be all”

  
“I would like to read it”, he said.

  
“Impossible, you are out of that world now and you’ll never return to it. Isn’t that better, considering the circumstances?” yes it was, he never had wanted a martyr, he only wanted Emmanuel having more time to enjoy his company and, in general, life, a little more “Now, if you finally can get it right… I’ll grant your wish”

  
He would yell at her and to her getting things right, and actually was opening his mouth, but the eagle, who appeared of nowhere coming through the wall as if she was a ghost, vanishing a second and then materializing on his lap, interrupted him. She brought a red thread on her beak and gave it to Justin. Her golden eyes looked at him and blinked.

  
“Oh, perfect, now she wants a nest or something like that” Toni jumped to her feet and, coming next to the bed, took the red thread from her “Young lady, first of all, this can tangle and hurt you. And in the second one, you can’t have him as a mate. Your reproductive organs are not compatible”.

  
The eagle emitted a sound of protest and jumped between Justin and Sophie, beak and wings open. Then she looked at the Prime Minister. He didn’t know how to read the animal’s behaviour and didn’t want to end punching her. But if she dared to harm Sophie...

  
“Don’t behave like that”, Toni scolded her, the red thread between her fingers “Justin, please, be a dear and explain to her…”

  
“I am sorry but our reproductive organs are not compatible” he repeated; of all the ridiculous things he had ever said this was probably the worst “And I already have a nest with her” he extended a protective arm towards his wife. The eagle closed her wings, left her head hanging in a comical gesture of defeat and sorrow “There is no reason why we can’t go on as friends” or whatever they were. The animal, clearly, didn’t appreciate to be friendzoned and jumped from the bed, apparently hiding under it.

  
“Don’t worry, she’ll be all right”, Toni said.

  
“If you say so” Justin sighed with exasperation “You keep repeating that, as much as that bit of getting things right. Yet, you won’t tell me how get things right. I am very tired, Toni”

  
She started to play with her bracelets, apparently annoyed. He could feel the eagle moving down there, under the bed.

  
“You are extremely stubborn, Justin. It is obvious what you should get right, it is obvious from the very first moment, when I told you that, as long as...”

  
“I wish I would have imagined you beheaded” he hissed, cutting her short. Under the bed, the eagle seemed to be attacking the mattress. Frustrated after the failure of her courtship, maybe. How did birds take being friendzoned?

  
“Bah, do you think that would stop me from performing my duties?” still playing with her bracelet, she finally broke it up, a cascade of pearls falling to the floor. But they disappeared as they hit the carpet, and the bracelet reappeared instantly, as if nothing had happened “You would be the one suffering from that view, it’s extremely disgusting. Once…”

  
“Stop!” he said “It’s enough, I don’t need to listen to that.” The Prime Minister rubbed his eyes. She pressed her lips as more yellow sparks than he had ever seen appeared around her head; actually angry at himself “Could we recapitulate, please?”

  
“As you wish” she said.

  
“First, I wanted to have some time to spend together with him, a new life. And I ended with President Le Pen. I don’t want President Le Pen, and neither I want Emmanuel wondering if people really hates him so much that he lost against her.”

  
“Very well then”

  
“Second, I don’t want a President Larcher. Or even a President Philippe. President Macron is fine, is what I want and I don’t want Emmanuel to be dead, even if he’s considered like… How did you say?”

  
“The Martyr President. With monuments, and parts of the European Parliament named about him, and movies, and even an opera, in fifty years it will be written”

  
“Enough. Nothing of that is a consolation if he’s not around” he looked back at Sophie “By the way, how did she find out?”

  
“You two were too indiscreet once time you were visiting France” Toni shrugged “And both your wives found. But they were… how to say it? Reasonable.”

“So it’s noticed. You want President Macron, don’t want Emmanuel to be dead, and…”

  
“And if we could enjoy some time together…” Justin pleaded “Could you, at last, grant me my wish?”

  
She crossed her arms.

  
“Justin, are you sure? Sorry, dear, I know it’s a little repetitive to ask you about that but since you are always talking over other people...”

  
“Yes, I am. Please don’t send me to some dark alternate universe, I have had enough of that”

  
She laughed.

  
“Ha! It’s the same that Marilyn said”

  
“Monroe?”

  
“No, Manson” she answered, and apparently in all seriousness. “I said you that you are bad at guessing this kind of things. Very well then, Justin. Wish granted and good night”.

* * *

This time he opened his eyes even before he heard the knock at the door. He saw Sophie’s face before him, with a frown that wasn’t there the last time. As if something worried her during her dreams. He would have remained a little more in the bed, but it was already late. And he was nervous to find out where his wish had lead him this time.

  
“Excuse me, Prime Minister, but it's already half past nine” and the assistant knocked at the door again.

  
“Justin, please, could you open that door?” Sophie said, stirring “I don’t want her to go on with her yells, that will make us look bad” then she opened her eyes “Weren’t you supposed to be running or something like that?”

  
“I was, but I didn’t sleep well”, he said, sitting on the bed and getting up. His headache was worse still than during the previous trip and he was more tired. Every single muscle of his body ached. The mere mention or running…

  
“Then join the club”, his wife said jumping to her feet and looking at her phone, that she had left on her night stand. Justin arched his eyebrows, as this was a novelty compared with his two previous trips. Another knock. “Would you ever open that door, Justin?”

  
“Yes, Madam” he said mockingly. She looked at him annoyed as he finally opened the door for the assistant. “Good morning”, he said.

  
“Good morning, Mr. Trudeau”, she answered politely as she walked away from him, holding a blue folder. “Madam? I remind you the themes you will discuss with President Macron this morning during your bilateral”

  
Justin remained stunned as he watched the two women talking about the schedule for the summit.

  
“Justin, please” Sophie said, taking her eyes away from the folder “Close the door, there’s no need of leaving it open so everyone can see us in our pyjamas. And close the mouth, too” she said in a softer tone “Why don’t you rest a little more while I take my shower? Christ, Justin. If you go out from this room like that you’ll scare all the fishes and you won’t be able to feed them. Or did that happen yesterday?”.

  
“Yes, that happened yesterday. In fact I brought your schedule, too, Mr. Trudeau. I mean that of the first ladies and partners...” she took a sheet of paper out of the folder.

  
“I… don’t…” Justin stuttered.

  
Sophie sighed.

  
“You drank too much sake yesterday, I see” she smiled with indulgence “Go back to the bed, I’ll take my shower and go to fix the world with the French President meanwhile” she gave her dossier to the assistant and the latter left. Justin was too dumbfounded to not accept his wife’s suggestion. He went back to the bed and - after a resentful look to the portrait - closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. But he was not. It seemed he hadn’t got it right this time either. He felt like there was something, or someone, hammering on his head. When Sophie got out of the bathroom fully dressed and said him goodbye, he still pretended to be asleep. He waited until he no longer heard steps from the corridor to get up again and take his shower.

  
What had failed this time and by which mechanism was his wife the Prime Minister now? At least Emmanuel hadn’t lost to Le Pen and was very much alive. This was a consolation, even if he knew they wouldn’t spend time together, if any at last. He got dressed and consulted the schedule. Sightseeing and visiting a school, and later a lunch discussing about charity projects. Sophie had been right, it was no surprise than Melania had decided not to come. Even Ivanka was mixed with the delegations and avoided at all costs that flower pot schedule. The only advantage he saw was that he could wear relatively informal, more comfortable clothes.

  
Maybe.

  
He stepped on the corridor, hands in his pockets, when a voice he missed called him.

  
“Eh, Justin!” he turned to look back at him, because it was him, Emmanuel. A younger-looking Emmanuel, smiling and tanned, with dark trousers that fit him perfectly and two buttons of his white shirt open, holding his jacket over his shoulder; he saved the distance that separated them, his smile broadening even more. How was that possible? The Frenchman’s arm surrounded his “Won’t you wait for me? I hope I haven’t any reasons to be jealous of Philip May”

  
He realized then who the President Macron of this universe was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, a pair of things.  
> Pedro Almodóvar did, among other things, write an erotic novel during the first years of his career. The illustrations were by Javier Mariscal, the man that designed the mascot of the 1992 Summer Olympics, Cobi. Hence Toni's comment.  
> So I hope you enjoyed this new chapter of Justin's adventures in dreamland. Until the next one and feel free to leave a comment or to criticise.

**Author's Note:**

> Now, "Marley" is obviously Jacob Marley, the name of the fourth spirit of Dickens' ("Charlie") A Christmas Carol, but you probably knew it already.  
> The portrait is this one:  
> https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f3/Marie_Antoinette_dauphine_H%C3%A9b%C3%A9_Drouais_Chantilly.jpg  
> As I always say, you are totally free to comment and critizise.  
> Next chapter will come soon, but later this week.


End file.
